Schadenfreude
by Winifred Hansen
Summary: She was caught up between the two greatest wizards known to mankind. Something was bound to give eventually. Perhaps her morals? HG/GG, HG/AD
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except Ludwig II, my darling laptop. Oh, and I do have an awesome Beatles t-shirt.

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**PROLOGUE**

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"_Curiosity is the lust of the mind.__"_

~ Thomas Hobbes

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It was said that curiosity killed the Kneazle.

Whether that statement was true or not she had yet to decide, and so it remained debatable for now. Although, there appeared to be substantial evidence which pointed in the direction of truthfulness.

That honestly didn't bode well for anyone at the moment.

After all she had been through over the years, after everything that had just ended a year prior to this day, was mere curiosity really going to be her downfall? Truly?

It seemed so.

She had always thought curiosity to be Ravenclaw's downfall, not Gryffindor's. Gryffindors were thought to be susceptible to challenges and dares, not curiosity. But then again, the Sorting Hat did consider putting her in Ravenclaw.

That said, it hardly explained anything at all. So she wondered.

How had all this come to pass? Where had it all gone wrong?

Again it was her natural inquisitiveness at fault.

Finishing her last and final year at Hogwarts after the war had left her devoid of Harry and Ron's companionship. They had chosen not to return, whether it was because of too many bad memories of the school or a non-existent desire to learn, she didn't know. She didn't particularly care either, nor did she blame them, as some seemed to believe.

Cleverness and books were her thing, not theirs.

She had missed them greatly though, having only seen them a few times during weekends in Hogsmeade or during school holidays. It was a stark contrast to living in a tent together for a whole year. Perhaps, she thought, they had honestly needed some time apart.

So she had started to evolve on her own. Mature into the young and brilliant woman she knew herself to be under the many layers of uncertainty and doubt. The war had taken a lot from her, stolen whatever childish innocence was left in her, but it had also given something important in return.

Confidence.

An aspect of herself she had sorely lacked in her early years of life. Now she held her head high and let no one humiliate her, carried herself with poise and conviction to the best of her ability.

She was within her rights to attend Hogwarts regardless of her birth, which shouldn't really matter, and she would unleash hell on the poor sod that would dare suggest otherwise.

She had definitely changed yes; she had made new friends too, or rather, focused on old acquaintances and friends, as to keep the loneliness at bay. But it was a given that no one could ever compare to the bond that she shared with Harry and Ron, she wouldn't be foolish enough to believe otherwise.

Of course she had also taken studying to the next level, the level of extremes some would say, and achieved scores equal to that of Albus Dumbledore's, one of the most gifted students to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And so she was celebrated as the Brightest-Witch-of-Her-Age yet again. Thrown into the mix was also her newly acquired status of War Heroine.

She cared for none of those titles, and they sounded shallow after fighting in an outright war. To hell with awards and ceremonies, there was nothing to celebrate in her mind. Not after seeing so many good people die before her eyes, not after seeing their lifeless bodies scattered around.

She had indeed changed after that particular horrifying moment in her life.

Harry and Ron on the other hand, was a completely different matter to discuss, as they had taken a liking to regular drunken debauchery. That surprised her, or at least Harry did, Ron not so much.

They experienced the joys of life as Ron used to say, took the time to learn how to be young and carefree. Again she couldn't fault them, couldn't blame them. They were finally free of the chains binding them, Harry especially.

Ginny wasn't so enthused though, but she would wait patiently for him to sow his wild oats, or so Hermione liked to think. She knew she certainly hadn't found Ron's sudden change in behaviour encouraging at all, and so their budding relationship had sort of faded back into comfortable friendship. Or as comfortable as could be between them, fighting was really more their thing after all.

It had hurt for a time, but she supposed they were better off this way.

Still, it annoyed her somewhat how much they had both changed, even if she had too, but it happened as they had both entered the Auror training programme enthusiastically, ready to take on the world again, like true heroes and get revenge on remaining Death Eaters. She had no plans of joining them, despite their eagerness to get her to join their team. No, she had other plans in mind.

If you wanted to change the world, you needed to get to the bottom of it all, not charging forward with all muscle and no brains. She had realised laws needed to be changed before anything else.

Not to mention the prejudice lingering around had to be abolished in order for everyone to move on.

She would do as Dumbledore had begun before her, be smart and cunning, change things from the inside. And she was on to a good start with her N.E.W.T scores, but then she had gone and ruined it by her damnable curiosity.

Somehow, she wasn't quite sure how the idea had come to mind, but she had gotten it into her head that taking a Grand Tour of the world, an old wizarding tradition forgotten as the world had changed, would be the perfect way to conclude the end of her studies.

How utterly wrong she had been.

Which brought her back to the present – _if_ you could even call it that.

She was looking at the man who even the great Albus Dumbledore was said to have feared once upon a time.

Said to have loved.

With a ginormous emphasis on '_long before her time'_.

Staring wide-eyed, deer caught in the headlights expression, she was looking up at none other than a young Gellert Grindelwald from her kneeling position on the cold stone floor, a man she had previously only seen in pictures.

Pictures from a very, _very_ long time ago.

But here in front of her chocolate brown eyes, was a man she knew to be dead after years of imprisonment in Nurmengard, ironic it may be as it was his own prison, and in old age killed by Lord Voldemort.

Then how in Merlin's name was it possible for him to sit there, surprised blue eyes scrutinizing her intently and perusing her figure shamelessly?

Her gaze went to the opened pocket watch in her hand, faded initials engraved and etched into the dented golden surface abraded by time and usage. She could barely make out a curvy G on the front side of the watch, and she nearly cursed herself when she realized the antique pocket watch must have been the cause.

Well fuck.

She was completely screwed, wasn't she? Of all the stupid ignorant things to do…

The Kneazle had just about gone and committed suicide.

"Bloody hell."

_TBC…_

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AN: Ugh. I should be working on my other story, yet here I find myself starting a new one. Unbelievable. I partially blame my overactive imagination and extremely energized plot bunnies. I think they must be multiplying, the plot bunnies I mean.

Oh, well… I hope you liked the prologue. I shall update whenever.

PS. Something has bothered me for a while: why is there only one Gellert/Hermione story in 's archive? Well, two now…


	2. Chapter One: Galaxy of the Lost

Disclaimer: I own nothing…

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**CHAPTER ONE: Galaxy of the Lost**

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"_Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life."_

~ William Faulkner

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_Godric's Hollow, July 1910._

Birds were flying merrily around, spinning intricate patterns across the light blue sky with their erratic movements, basking in the freedom bestowed to them by life itself, and the sun was spreading its warmth in goodwill on the cheerful inhabitants of the little houses and cottages in Godric's Hollow.

Not far behind Parish Church of St. Clementine, an old and cosy little church standing dedicated to the townsfolk of Godric's Hollow as it had done since the thirteenth century, the old Dumbledore Cottage could be found, hiding in the far end of the small village and sheltered from the prying eyes of the nosy town inhabitant's. The cottage wasn't overtly large, nor was it too insignificant to overlook when passing by, although it could be said, as was usually issued among the gossiping elderly women, that the quaint little cottage had seen better days indeed. It was no secret among the residents what had occurred in the Dumbledore home only eleven years prior, but eleven years had quelled the need to bring back ghosts of the past at every opportunity given, a fact the oldest remaining member of the Dumbledore family had come to appreciate immensely.

On this beautiful day of free-spirited twittering birds roaming the sky and a grinning sun, Albus Dumbledore found himself sitting quietly in his modest study in his old family cottage, a sardonic smile adorning his sharp features and he appeared to be deep in thought, all traces of his previous research momentarily forgotten. The sun was peeking in from behind the half-closed magenta curtains, tiny strands of dust could be seen playing in the occasional ray of light streaming in, and the warmth had yet to reach unbearable levels as seemed to occur around this time of year.

It was on days like these he would remember, succumb to the bittersweet memories still present in his brilliant mind. He would never forget the best and worst years of his life. And it all came down to one man.

Gellert Grindelwald.

He felt a jolt of unpleasantness shoot through him at the mere thought of his name, and the things instantly associated with it.

_For the greater good. _

The sentence always seemed to come to mind whenever he thought of past memories, whenever he recalled his time with Gellert. He had been a fool, so easily convinced by the younger man, swayed by his revolutionary words, and most importantly; blinded by his love. Before that fateful summer he had never been a man controlled by his emotions, not like he had seen countless others easily fall pray to. He hadn't felt the binding chains enslaving people to emotions such as love.

But perhaps it was bound to happen at some point, he supposed. He wasn't immune to such earthly emotions, and he certainly wasn't above feeling them. Although, now he knew it was just a matter of suppressing such unwanted troublesome emotions flowing through him and tinkering with all logical and rational thought. Never again would he throw caution to the wind and blindly follow his heart, regardless of the warnings his mind would conjure.

He sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his slightly crooked nose, a cruel reminder of his vengeful younger brother and the undercurrent of hatred lingering after years of estrangement. He couldn't fault Aberforth for hitting him at the funeral, as he had long since come to accept his part in Ariana's untimely death, and his regrettable responsibility in the matter.

The punch had been very much justified, he admitted mournfully, which was probably why he hadn't gotten his nose fixed properly. Like this he had a constant reminder so he would never forget his own recklessness.

He stilled the silent drumming of his quill and laid it down, dropping the feathery utensil on a pile of neatly stacked reference books just beside his half-finished essay. Somehow the urge to further his theory on uses of Dragon Blood had disappeared completely, and there was an urgent tugging at his delicate heartstrings telling, _commanding_, him to let go just this once.

Shaking his head dejectedly he decided to give in, if only this one time his mind rationalised, he hadn't the heart to stop himself regardless. He gently tapped the drawer with his wand, an understated eagerness in his movements, and the drawer slid out imperiously only seconds after, the contents accessible for perusal, as every secret gem was suddenly visible to the naked eye. Usually he didn't engage in such daring, not to mention foolish actions, but alas; he caved, struck by a rare moment of weakness, weakness of heart and mind alike.

Long skilful fingers embraced an old picture frame almost longingly, _lovingly_, yet a faint tinge of disgust could be detected. How many times had he denied himself the right to reminisce blamelessly, to remember the good things without the bad stringing along and leaving him with a poignant reminder of his own stupidity?

Truthfully, he was tired of pretending not to be hurt, and then wallow in feelings of guilt the rest of the time. Even he had limits as to what could be endured emotionally.

And yet here he was, allowing himself to look at the only reminder he had left of his time with Gellert, a treasure kept hidden from the public eye and every ill-intentioned being out there to snoop around and hurt him.

No, this picture was for his eyes only.

It was Gellert's aunt, Mrs Bagshot, who had taken the picture in goodwill, and as a token of his past love he had decided to keep it, despite all rational thought telling him not to. He had considered throwing it away time and again, yet he couldn't find it in his heart to dispose of the last memento he had left.

He gently traced the lines on the picture, caressing it so tenderly as only a man in love would his most treasured lover, and shut his eyes in grief. He needed to stop doing this to himself. It couldn't possibly be healthy. He needed to move on, to forgive and forget, to live life to the fullest.

"_It won't do to dwell on it",_ Elphias Doge had said more than once to him, and he supposed it wouldn't. But some things in life were easier said than done.

Spells, hexes, charms, potions, nothing was too difficult; there wasn't anything he couldn't do, didn't understand or couldn't figure out, nothing except love. Something so simple and straightforward, yet he couldn't grasp the workings of the almost foreign concept.

But love was never simple, was it?

He was brought out of his lonesome thoughts, as he felt the ground start to shake, his desk trembling as the ripples sent through the earth shook the ground and everything above and on it. He sat up straight in his high-backed chair, cautiously leaning away from his work desk and watched in flummoxed awe, how the books laying on the table seemed to dance along with the quivering desk, the picture frame still clutched in his hands protectively.

Then suddenly a wave of magical energy swept over him, through his very being and down to his core, he was nearly knocked over by the sheer force of it, the effects doubled by his surprise.

Before he had time to act, of which he hardly knew what to do anyhow, the shaking was gone and the wave of magic had long since passed, like it had never truly been there at all.

_What in the name of Morgana had just transpired? _

* * *

_Grindelwald Mansion, Germany, July 1910._

He was furious. Fuming murderously in his customary seat, he had little thought for anything else than concentrating hard on the painful ways he would dispose of his third in command. Soon to be six feet under and in command of nothing but worms from the ground, that is if they didn't try to eat him first, to which one could certainly hope.

Of course not before getting a taste of what happens to anyone who dared to defy him, or neglected to do his bidding exactly as commanded, as Hartmann had wrongfully done.

_Verdammter Idiot__, _he grumbled in his mind_._

Why couldn't they just do what he so rightfully demanded? And do it well.

Imbeciles, the lot of them. How hard could it be to persuade _ein winziges Zauberer_ to join his cause? One godforsaken wizard. It was apparently harder than it looked for certain individuals.

Friedrich Dressler turned out to be an evasive bastard.

_Fluch über ihn__!_

His sparkling blue eyes flashed dangerously, and he knew he needed to calm down before he unintentionally blew something up - or worse. And as it was, he happened to like his basement as it currently was; therefore no explosions of any kind were needed. He looked around, still fuming, but appraising his handiwork with pride. He had greatly needed a place no one would be able to find him, a sanctuary, and what better place than his own home? He had made sure the private room in his basement was concealed, and he doubted even someone as skilled as Albus would have been able to find the room, much less break the exceptional wards placed on the entrance.

He wasn't vain, merely realistic in his approach. He knew he was good, even if Albus had appeared to be, if only, a tad better in some aspects.

_Albus_. That was a name he hadn't thought of for a while. It sounded almost foreign to utter in his mind, strange even.

Albus Dumbledore, how different everything would have been with him by his side. He was at the very least a competent companion. But his _Verdammter Bruder_, Aberforth, had gotten in the way of that, and so had his beloved little sister. His siblings held him back when he could obviously be so much more, be so much greater than what they allowed him to be. He knew potential when he saw it, and Albus Dumbledore had it in spades.

_Schade_.

They could have been ruling the world by now, magical and muggle alike, had their plans not run into such bothersome obstacles, made those _Muggel-Familien und Schlammblut Hexen und Zauberer_ succumb to their will.

But no. Perhaps it was not meant to be, if one believed such superstitious nonsense as Divination in the first place.

Which ultimately meant he would have to do everything himself.

He had returned to his family home in Germany shortly after the unfortunate incident at Dumbledore Cottage eleven years ago, hell-bent on completing his vision. So he had started gathering information on the Hallows and their location, he had even succeeded in acquiring one, the Elder Wand. It had taken him a great deal of a year to accomplish, but no matter, he got what he desired in the end. Then he had realised he needed followers to spread word of his greatness and do what he had no time for, and they came quicker and easier than expected, they were practically begging for his attention once he made his views and ideas clear.

So easily persuaded and manipulated, it was almost sad. He snorted loudly.

But why were they so inept at handling small and supposedly insignificant matters? Did he honestly have to do everything himself, to see to it that it got done right? _Unglaublich!_

The next time he saw Hartmann he would-

He froze in his seat and halted his line of murderous thoughts, as something truly peculiar took place.

_Was in der Holle? _

He blinked, confused.

In front of his very eyes, a blurry shape materialised out of nothing but thin air, a force of magic knocking him violently back in his chair with an unexpected strength, his secret room shaking, still trembling from the aftereffects of the magical outburst.

If he had been standing up when it happened, he was sure to have been knocked on his arse, but luckily he was not.

His long pale fingers gripped the Elder Wand, _his _wand, hard and brutally, as if afraid to lose it. He was surprised to find a young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, kneeling on the ice-cold stone floor in front of him, looking up at him with big questioning brown eyes. He could practically see the change in them, the array of ever-changing emotions running through her.

Confusion. Panic. Realisation. And finally fear.

He could see her eyes dart to something clutched in her hand, and he was assaulted by a new bout of emotions, only this time genuine curiosity was thrown into the mix. He watched her mouth fall open in surprise, yet no words formed on her lips due to her shock.

Then she uttered two words he would never forget.

"_Bloody hell."_

* * *

_Somewhere in Germany, July 1999._

She could not believe her luck - or rather lack thereof at the moment. First she had managed to get lost in some bizarre little German town on her way to the Inn she was supposed to stay at, then she had to wait for three hours before the goddamn train arrived, delays not included, and now they had given her room away because of her lateness.

_Bloody brilliant_, her mind sneered spitefully.

Fortunately there was a smaller and less ostentatious room available than what she had originally counted on, _but_ she would have to wait another four hours until it was ready.

There was always a catch, wasn't there?

She was honestly starting to doubt her grandiose plans for this summer, for a split-second thinking it might not have been the best of ideas, if this occurrence was anything to go by, but shrugged it off crossly as soon as it came.

Still, there was an uncanny feeling in the back of her mind, nagging and all. A foreboding shiver ran down her spine, tinkling uncomfortably as she got a premonition of sorts. It almost felt like something bad was about to happen and she halted her angry steps. It was a familiar intuitive feeling she had come to know through the war, but reassured herself that nothing was going to happen.

She started walking again, intent on leaving all traces of suspicious feelings behind. She scoffed mentally; she never had put much stock into Divination and the like.

_And never would._

She was merely a bit skittish from travelling all day, not to mention exhausted from all the waiting she had done and the fair bit of walking around she had as well, which had simply been an attempt to kill time. There was nothing else to it.

Or so she kept telling herself, but feelings of doubt lingered anyhow. Normally she trusted her intuition, something that had saved her life a couple of times, but logic stated that there was nothing out of the ordinary now. Perhaps she had just eaten something bad?

She sat down on a lovely little bench in the park she had morosely ventured into, her beloved little beaded bag clutched in her hand protectively and legs stretched out in front of her. At least the sun was still shining, she thought offhandedly, and prayed the weather wouldn't betray her in order to spite her optimistic thoughts.

And now to the million-dollar question. What to do for the next four hours?

She looked around with narrowed eyes, making sure no muggles were lurking around for what she was about to do, and sighed in relief when she found none nearby. She eagerly rummaged through her trustworthy little bag of wonders for a book on wizarding attractions. _The Greatest Guide to German Attractions_, a book she somehow managed to dig up from lying buried underneath a mountain of odd booklets, which was conveniently on sale at Flourish and Blotts right before her departure.

She extracted the book hastily, still looking nervously around to ensure no one had seen most of her arm disappear into her little bag, and exhaled relieved when she yet again found no one lingering around, then turned her attention to the book in her lap.

She skimmed through the nearby attractions with great interest, and was fast to decide where to go, her eyes brimming with determination at the chosen destination.

So in another pathetic attempt to kill time, while she waited for her room, she decided to visit Gellert Grindelwald's old residence, a place she had looked forward to seeing with her own eyes, and according to the programme shown, she could, if she hurried, just about make it to the next tour around the mansion, with an English speaking guide no less.

Checking if everything was in order, she stood from her seat on the dark green bench, her bag still clutched in her hand, while desperately trying to get the book back in the bag with the other, exchanging it for her wand in the process. For the last time she looked around to ensure no witnesses were present, and when she found none, she disappeared with a barely audible 'pop'.

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_Grindelwald Mansion, Germany, July 1999._

This was probably the most boring lecture she had ever heard, Professor Binns included, which was something she hadn't previously thought possible. He had been at it for the past thirty minutes, non-stop, and she was at her limit.

She slyly snuck a glance at the other members of the group, and they looked just as bored as her, if not more. They had reached the lower levels of the huge Mansion, and if she didn't get away from that monotone, downright flat drone, then she would most likely scream in frustration.

Normally she prided herself on being a patient person, she did after all have to deal with Ron on a regular basis, but this was too much, even for her.

She bit her lip in frustration, afraid she would let out an unsatisfied shriek otherwise, and deliberately turned her attention elsewhere. It looked a lot like the dungeons of Hogwarts castle, although not that large, but it was still an impressive sight to behold. There were floating candles varying in all sizes along the cold and clammy stone walls, and the corridor reminded her of old muggle horror films from the early part of the twentieth century. Perhaps, if she hadn't attended Hogwarts for seven years, she probably would have found it hair-raisingly eerie, but now she only found a sense of familiarity in the candlelit hallway.

It occurred to her that one probably had to have impeccable knowledge of the lower levels of the grandiose Mansion, if one didn't wish to get lost in the interconnected hallways in the basement; it seemed more of a maze to her, designed to make unwelcome people disoriented, perhaps even make them disappear from this earth without a trace and never to be found again. It had probably been done at some point in time. She shuddered slightly; glad to be gifted with an eidetic memory, and therefore remembering the exact way back to where they had started from. Still, there was always the possibility of getting lost, no matter what abilities one might have, eidetic or not.

Who knew what secrets lay dormant, just waiting to jump unsuspecting individuals?

Still walking in a bit of a daze, caught up by her thoughts of Gellert Grindelwald's old home, something caught hold of her undivided attention. She had spotted intriguing markings on what appeared to be a dead end, just a little further down one of the many hallways they were passing by, and in a moment of curious fascination she found herself sneaking down the poorly lit hallway.

She knew how to get back, and it wouldn't hurt to take a peek, would it? It couldn't possibly. It was just a quick look, nothing more, she assured herself, and strode purposefully towards the enthralling markings on the wall, and halted abruptly once she came to stand directly in front of it.

Something was beckoning for her to look at it, to discover the age-old secrets remaining in the ancient mansion, despite her earlier observations of possible dangers lurking. She avidly studied the different markings and patterns forming a terrifyingly beautiful archway, then realised with a sudden clarity that it was wards, and quite complex ones at that, which adorned the otherwise bare wall. Whoever made them desperately wanted something hidden or protected from the rest of the world.

How could she just leave after knowing that?

In retrospect, this wasn't, perhaps, the best of ideas she had ever gotten, but the passionate scholar in her soared at the challenge presented, begging to be solved, the rational part of her mind momentarily forgotten. She wanted to solve this, _needed_ it more than life itself at that exact moment. Without thinking of the possible consequences, the undeniable outcome of her rash and thoughtless actions, not to say what dangers may wait behind the sealed entrance, she started to remove the wards, one by one.

She was consumed by curiosity, like flames ate away at the logs in the blazing hearth, she only saw the task, the complex puzzle demanding to be solved, and her brows furrowed in deep concentration, little beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

This was without a doubt the hardest combination of wards she had yet to see, and had she not already been working on them, she was sure her fingers would have itched and twitched in eagerness.

The way the maker had used runes in addition and combination to spells and complex wards, it was creative and unprecedented, she had never seen anything like it, and for a brief moment she wished she could have met whoever made it. To invent something so beautiful, truly magnificent, it spoke volumes of the maker's abilities and intelligence. And of course she had a plethora of questions already, but knew within her heart she would never be able to ask the creator in person.

_Such a shame_.

Another five minutes passed, five minutes of sheer concentration focused solely on the archway, and then she felt the heavy wards begin to ease up, layer by layer.

She looked almost unbelievingly at the door appearing in front of her, feeling somewhat surprised she had actually managed to crack the challenging wards protecting the mysterious room.

Did she dare take a look?

Again warning bells sounded threateningly in her mind, but chose to flat out ignore them, for once feeling adventurous and daring, without the danger of Voldemort looming over her head, weighing her down. Just this once she would act on her desire and take a peek, because how often did one come across something so amazingly mysterious as this?

She hesitantly reached for the massive oak door, her hand playing a game of stopping and retreating several times over, before squaring her shoulders and pushing the door open determined, wand ready in the other hand, should she encounter anything remotely dangerous.

The door creaked ominously as she pushed it open, indicating it had not been used in decades, and she was not prepared for the sight that met her. She had perhaps expected a chamber of torture devices, treasures hidden away for centuries, or even dangerous creatures, but she had certainly not anticipated a chamber filled with books and odd devices. For a second she was reminded of Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts, yet the thought was fleeting and gone faster than she dared to think it.

It hadn't been cleaned for years, she could tell, dust lay in thick layers on shelves and other furniture present. Who had made this? Had it been Gellert Grindelwald himself, or a previous successor of the Grindelwald family? New questions formed in a heartbeat and she hardly knew where to begin.

She decided to explore, after all how could she not? This was a once in a lifetime experience for sure. She knew most magical researchers would give their right arm just to get a quick look, a peek even, and here she had it all to herself. She was honestly beginning to wonder if Harry and Ron had rubbed off too much on her over the years, or if she had always been this curious, only it had been overshadowed by everyone else stealing the spotlight over the years, and quelled by the need to protect her reckless boys.

A mixture perhaps?

Her eyes caught sight of something small and round laying on the desk in the far end of the room, and decided it was a place as good as any to start her exploration. Drawing closer, she realised it was an old pocket watch made of gold, it was worn and there were a few dents in the surface. A bout of fascination rushed through her and she couldn't resist the urge to pick it up.

Surely a watch wouldn't be cursed, but she ran a diagnostic spell anyhow, just to be on the safe side, and to her relief she found none. One could never be too careful in places like these, even if she shouldn't be there in the first place, and that she had disregarded any other warnings so far.

She gently lifted the watch and brought it to her ear, she could most definitely hear a faint ticking noise. _Amazing_. Next she tried to open it, but in her new quest she ran into her first obstacle – it refused to open. She frowned sceptically and tried again, but yet again, found that it wouldn't.

The clasp had to be broken then.

She wound the little straps of her bag around her wrists, to get the stuffy bag out of her way and get better access to the pocket watch, set in her mission to get the blasted thing to open.

_Damn it, why couldn't it just open?_ She huffed insulted.

Brightest Witch of Her Age, bested by an antique pocket watch with a broken clasp. Oh she could just feel the humiliation burn in her already flushed cheeks.

She had definitely heard the telling ticking noises, confident she hadn't been imagining it, and therefore it simply had to work. A logical conclusion one would say.

This time she put more force into her grip, but it still didn't budge. She felt a surge of anger mixed with annoyance well up, and it only served to make her grip on the watch tighten further. Without a warning the broken clasp gave way, and the golden watch popped open in frustration, her eyes going wide and she stumbled clumsily to the floor, scraping her knees and hands in the process, a sudden force of magic enveloping her.

Her breathing hitched and for a moment she thought time might have stopped, as the magic swirled enigmatically around her, caging her in a cocoon of raw magic. She could feel a swell of panic bubble up and she swallowed heavily, unable to determine what was happening to her, and unable to grasp the severity of the situation.

Curiosity could be very dangerous it seemed.

The swirling of sparkling magic came to a halt before bursting, like a balloon getting pricked by a needle, the sparks surged forward, away from her, and left a terrible shaking in its wake as an unavoidable aftermath.

She let out a shaky breath, before raising her eyes to look around, still visibly shaken by the sudden bout of magic. From now on she refused to touch anything else in the blasted room. Her eyes darted around the room, and her whole being froze in shock when her frantic gaze stopped at the old leather chair.

_That was not possible._

She stared incredulously at the man sitting in front of her; sitting in the very same worn leather chair, which she knew had been empty only seconds before, sat none other than Gellert Grindelwald himself, a man she knew to be dead. More than dead, buried in fact. Possibly decayed and eaten by worms by now.

But how? What? Why?

Words failed her for what was probably the first time in her life. Her mouth opened slightly, lips parting questioningly, yet no words came out. Her brown eyes were wide and betrayed her normally calm persona by giving off small waves of fear.

She only managed to croak out two insignificant words in her confounded state.

"_Bloody hell."_

_TBC…_

* * *

AN: I officially have no idea what I'm doing anymore…

Err. Yes… Not much to say, except "Bloody wayward plot bunnies!"

I do hope you found it to your liking, even if the pair have yet to actually converse properly. That said, next chapter shall prove to be entertaining in that aspect, and I am glad to reveal that I shall launch a new character (well, he is 'homemade', but he will have no greater impact on the story, he is merely there for my amusement.). That said I hope my take on Dumbledore wasn't too weird, but I find myself thinking he must not only regret an awful lot, but also miss a lot.

The next update will be, well, whenever. I feel it is better not to make any promises if I shan't be able to uphold them. My first priority lies with my other fic, so don't behead me for updating that instead.

And thank you so much for all the lovely reviews! And favourites and alerts as well. It really gets me writing. Truly and honestly.

Also, I apologise for any possible mistakes in the German bits. It's been quite some time since I last had to deal with German, and therefore I seem to be a little rusty.

Here are the translations, but do keep in mind that I translate from Danish to German, and now from German to English.

_Verdammter Idiot – _damn idiot

_Ein winziges Zauberer – _One teeny tiny wizard

_Fluch über ihn__! – _Curse him!

_Verdammter Bruder – _damn brother

_Schade_ - Shame

_Muggel-Familien und Schlammblut Hexen und Zauberer – _Muggle families and Mudblood witches and wizards.

_Unglaublich! – _Unbelievable!

_Was in der Holle? – _What the hell?


	3. Chapter Two: Ghosts

Disclaimer: I own nothing, although William Wordscrabble happens to be my lovely little puppet created for my own amusement, and I am quite fond of him, for whatever unimaginable reason…

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO: Ghosts**

* * *

"_The distinction between the past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion__."_

~ Albert Einstein

* * *

_Dumbledore Cottage, Godric's Hollow. July 13__th__ 1910._

Magickal Malaise Or Misuse of Magick? By William Wordscrabble

_Few incidents in history have received such enthusiastic attention, although, thereto it can be said that very few of those have been truly significant and worth remembering, but none of these aforementioned incidents seem to top yesterday's abnormal occurrence; they now seem rather meek in comparison. _

_Around noon on July 12__th__, a shaking of the very ground we walk on ensued and was followed by a wave of raw Magickal energy flushing over us entirely unannounced like the waves of the raging sea; a wave of unknown origins. _

_Experts from our esteemed Ministry of Magick has relayed to us, in a temporary statement made only to the press, that they have now established where the unidentified peculiar surge of uncontrolled elemental Magick must have originated, but that they have yet to determine the cause._

_No less than five Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries unit are currently working alongside Senior Auror Ethan Dawlish and Thomas Williamson in this exiting quest for unravelling yesterday's great mystery. Reliable sources has further disclosed information of the previous unmentioned location being Germany, whereto our highly respected Ministry Officials shall begin a journey of, hopefully, discovery. They have neither denied nor confirmed the suspicions of the location in question being Germany, but their regard, or rather disregard, for our inquiry speaks for itself, as should the hasty dealings made under the table with the German Government. _

_But what really lays to blame for the sudden magickal outburst? _

_What is truly important to know in this great matter of discussion, is that it is a commonly known fact among well-read Witches and Wizards that outbreaks of Magickal energies of this level, not to mention range (which turns out to be on a worldwide scale after meetings with several foreign Ministries), are exceedingly dangerous and- _

Albus gently lowered the newest edition of the Daily Prophet, which had only just arrived by Owl Post mere moments ago, his face ashen when he realised who must be to blame for this madness.

_Germany_.

It was a wonder how one simple word could be so disheartening, that one word could do so much damage in a matter of mere seconds.

_Gellert. _

Could it honestly be any other man? He searched his heart and mind for answers, but concluded somewhat disappointed that it _had_ to be him. No other man could manage this kind of magic, he was quite sure of that, only he would be foolish enough to commence such devious work and magic of this calibre – and obvious danger.

He was a fool.

Now, if only he knew what had been done to create this kind of magical outburst… His mind drifted off and his long pale fingers drummed on the old oak table in irregular movements.

Caradoc had unintentionally let it slip that Unspeakables from the Time Room was involved, which unfortunately didn't make much sense, nor did it bode well for anyone. Whenever the Time Room was involved, there was bound to be repercussions of another world.

It got his mind thinking.

Had the eruption of magic been time altering? Had it been so powerful it had defied the most basic laws of magic and caused a change in the course of time? Something previously believed to be impossible?

If it were so, the wave of elemental magic would make sense. Whoever had managed to change something in the course of time, had created a ripple and disrupted the timeline irrevocably.

Now _that_ was a scary thought.

A chill of fear ran through him and he ceased the drumming of his fingers and stood, intent on writing Caradoc and pressing him for further information; this matter needed handling _now_.

Whatever Gellert had done, if it truly _was_ Gellert, it couldn't be good.

* * *

_Grindelwald Mansion, Germany, July 12__th__ 1910._

"Bloody hell."

"_Ein Engländer?"_ He murmured to himself in surprise, before realising no matter what nationality, the young woman in front of him was still trespassing on very dangerous grounds, and had to somehow have broken through all of his temperamental wards placed on the sealed entrance to their current location.

How in Merlin's name did this slip of a woman break the wards on the door? Or had she really, in fact, broken through his custom made wards, which he had spent weeks on perfecting? He highly doubted it, and while it wouldn't do to underestimate an unknown opponent, she honestly didn't seem too dangerous.

_More like a scared little kitten about to be squashed_, he thought.

But she had appeared much like one would do by apparition; the wave of magic not included, naturally, yet she had popped up unannounced and effortlessly like one would by apparition these days. Still, the wards should by all means have prevented her from entering in the first place, they should for all intents and purposes have directed her elsewhere; a cave in the Black Forest more precisely.

He had, quite by accident, found a stray Hungarian Horntail off its course, in the middle of wiping out an entire village near the Alps. What a pity they had actually been able to do damage to one of the huge beast's wings; it was such a dangerously beautiful creature to behold.

Where exactly the Dragon Tamers in charge of the monstrous beast were at the time, no one knew, not even he. Later though, he had found two very inebriated Dragon Tamers intent on draining Munich for beer, a seemingly impossible quest and yet they had seemed adamant about trying nonetheless, and keep trying. The dragon had a simple tracing spell on it, which he had then skilfully reversed.

The poor fools never knew what hit them. A few good memory charms, an unseemly amount of alcohol and the Hungarian Horntail was his for the taking. What had happened to them afterwards, he hadn't cared enough to find out about.

And that was how he now found himself with a dragon secured in a cave in the middle of the Black Forest, a place he usually used to dispose of unwanted people, or wayward trolls.

But to turn his attention back to the matter at hand. She, a pretty little thing dressed in strange clothing he had never seen before, was kneeling before him on the cold and hard stone floor, in what looked to be an extremely uncomfortable position.

Who was she, why was she there and how did she get in? He hardly knew which question ranked first in terms of importance.

_Ah, no matter, he would have her answer them all._

He had his wand at her throat in a flash, forcefully knocking her over in her startled state so she landed roughly on the floor, her head hitting the cobblestone floor, hard. She hissed in pain at the contact, but he cared for none of her pathetic whimpers, merely digging his wand harder into the hollow of her throat. He could see a bruise forming already, a red mark given by his treasured wand, and he hadn't even begun yet.

_By Merlin he would enjoy this._

"Who are you?" He said through gritted teeth, his breath hot on her face, and his body straddling hers. She gasped out loud and looked up at him with frightened eyes, unicorn caught in the wand-light expression.

_She was looking scared, as she should be._

"Answer me." He urged her to answer, when she remained a tongue-tied mess. "If you value your life, you will answer me." She was close to hyperventilating, he could see it in her deep brown eyes, how expressive they were, revealing each and every secret to whoever cared to look close enough, and her breathing as well was a revealing factor. Perhaps he did come on a bit too strong, but she could be an assassin sent to take care of him for all he knew. Anyone could act the part of a frightened Flobberworm.

"My…n-ame is Her-mione." She stuttered, audibly swallowing as he removed his wand an inch or so, to most_ kindly_ give her space to breathe freely without the pressure of the tip of his wand boring into her throat.

"Hermione what?" He sneered unpleasantly, his blue eyes narrowing to tiny slits, when he began to feel his patience running thin.

"Granger. Hermione Granger." She said, firmly this time, having found her bravery once again after she recovered from her shocked state.

"How did you get past my wards?" He stressed out impatiently, annoyed by her newfound act of valour, especially when he was pointing a wand threateningly at her.

"Those were _your_ wards?" She exclaimed, an incredulous expression appearing out of nowhere. "I should have known…" She mumbled under her breath, as her initial surprise faded and logic too over - much to his confusion.

"Of course they are my wards, you imbecile! This is my house!" He growled, feeling unexplainably offended by her surprise and choice of words. "Did you, or did you not break through my wards?" He leaned in closer to her face, still straddling her in a most improper fashion, and the motion was accompanied by a harsh jab of the Elder Wand to her throat.

"Yes, I took down your wards! I couldn't help myself!" She rushed out, and he eased back a bit; shocked beyond compare. "They were so fascinating, I mean, I have never seen anything like them before. The markings just called out to me, I can't explain it…the way runes were used in combination with wards, and the spells!" She babbled, her brown eyes full of passion and eagerness.

"Enough!" He yelled, his furious blue eyes flashing and nostrils flaring dangerously. He willed himself to calm down, at least long enough for him to finish interrogating her. He needed answers, and he needed them now.

"How did you get into the mansion in the first place, _woman_?" He growled in a low voice, his blue eyes searching hers for answers they couldn't give. She didn't say anything, her mouth instantly clamping shut like someone had sent a silencing spell her way, and he had to wonder if she felt a particular need to die at his hands.

"So be it." His eyes were cold, and had he a mirror nearby he would, without a doubt, have seen them gleam manically. If the girl had no wish to cooperate, well, he would extract the desired information his way - the forceful kind.

He grabbed her chin, hard, with his free hand and pointed his wand at her with the other. Her eyes went wide, and he could see her mouth fall open in surprise, her plump lips forming a perfect 'o'.

"_Legilimens!_"

He could feel her Occlumency shields materialise, forming what she honestly believed to be an impenetrable wall around her mind, desperately trying to keep him out of her mind and keep her secrets to herself, but he would have none of her petulant behaviour. He demanded answers, which she had adamantly refused to give, and now she was paying the price.

What he saw in her brilliant mind, though, held not a smidgen of what he had imagined to find lurking in the depths of her numerous memories.

He gasped loudly at the images arranging and rearranging themselves in confusing patterns; he saw the undeniable change of the world, as he knew it.

He saw glimpses of years that had yet to come. He saw memories of a time that was not his own.

Memories of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, flashes of unknown people, mortal peril year after year, an impending war lurking in the shadows and then suddenly turning into a full-blown war, torture...

When he reached a particular nasty memory of a mad witch inflicting pain on the young beauty trapped beneath him, she shut her eyes, willing herself to think of something else, anything else, and much to his surprise, the image that materialised in front of him was the memory of two large yellow eyes.

The effect was immediate.

He hastily pulled himself away from Hermione and her mind, effectively ending their connection in a rush, landing hard a few feet away from her, stunned – and nauseous.

She grabbed for her vine wood wand in a swift and familiar movement, her reflexes from the war still present in her mind and body,

"What in the seven pits of hell was _that_?" He rasped and proceeded to dry heave, as the overwhelming shock was to great for even a body as strong as his.

"A basilisk. A highly convenient memory, when people don't seem to respect the privacy of one's mind." She pointed her wand at him, her posture rigid and uncertain.

"Now it's your turn to answer some questions. How are you still alive?" Her confidence seemed to grow by the minute, and he felt a tiny speck of respect for the young woman defiantly pointing her wand at him, although it was mostly overlapped by the annoyance he felt for her insolence.

_How dared she point a wand at him?_

"Impertinent little witch." He forced out once the nausea subsided, and he hesitantly rose from his pathetic kneeling position on the floor. "And pray tell, who on earth should have killed _me_?" He arched an eyebrow at the dim-witted question.

She frowned, her mind finally starting to function properly after momentarily taking a well-deserved break. She took a quick look around the room, scanning the room for something she believed to have previously overlooked. But found, much to her annoyance, that nothing was out of the ordinary, in fact, it looked exactly the same save for a few odd objects and devises that clearly wasn't there before and then, of course, there wasn't a speck of dust or cobweb to be found tainting the room.

_Odd,_ she thought.

"Wait. What year is this?" She asked, the pieces of the puzzle finally clicking into place, and unconsciously lowered her wand slightly.

He took a few steps closer to her, noticing her defence falter ever so slightly, which to a skilled duellist such as he, appeared to be an opening, however small it might seem.

"1910, which will no doubt come as a surprise to you." He answered arrogantly, "How you, a mere girl, managed such a feat is rather curious." He was surprised yes, but looking through her memories had provided explanation enough for him to grasp the situation at hand, somewhat at least.

"I'll have you know that I am the brightest witch of my age, and that I received perfect N.E.W.T scores to rival that of Albus Dumbledore!" She hissed indignantly at him, her wand wavering a little, as her arms flailed about in obvious anger.

"One would be inclined to think otherwise of your person, as your recent actions implies lesser qualities attached to your list of skills. Travelling nearly a century back in time seems on the rather dubious side of brilliant, no?" He baited her, and had she taken the time to consider why he would taunt her so, then she might have kept her cool and retained a firm grasp on her trustworthy vine wood wand.

"You-you! You arsehole!" She spluttered, insulted. Her cheeks grew warm, and he could see her flush a lovely shade of red, angered by his offending choice of words.

She was all too easy to rile up he discovered, much to his amusement, and in her frenzied state she didn't notice him advance on her. His own wand had rolled under his worn leather chair, which he refused to throw out despite the damage time and usage had done to it, and he knew he would have to launch a surprise attack if he wanted to reclaim the upper hand.

"Actually, my lineage is impeccable, but I highly doubt the same can be said for yours." He taunted nonchalantly and inched a few steps closer, advancing on her much like a predator on the hunt.

His words appeared to strike a cord in her, and fury overtook her emotions completely. He hadn't a clue as to what offended her so, but he knew people who let their emotions get the better of them were always the easiest prey to catch unawares.

_Time to act then._

She didn't get a word of retaliation in before he took control of the situation. He made a quick grab for her wand, as he was close enough to touch her, and Gellert easily won the brief struggle about who gained the rights to her wand, as he was physically superior to her.

Again she found herself on the wrong end of a wand, much to her chagrin, and she glared viciously at him. He chuckled, clearly amused by her stubbornness. She, however, found none of it entertaining.

"Erm…If I could just have my wand back, then I will be on my way. I'm sorry to have disturbed your peace, that was really rude of me, pointing a wand at you too, and I apologise." She explained nervously, eager to get away from him, one of the darkest wizards known to mankind and only second to Voldemort. The way he looked at her, calculating and with an all too cunning glint in his eyes, told her that she should escape at any given chance – if she ever got one.

"I'm afraid I cannot allow you to leave, Miss Granger." He stated with a pleased grin. "Not only do you have more knowledge of the future than any self-proclaimed _seer_, but you singlehandedly managed to break through _my_ wards. I'm certain I can find plenty of things for you to do at my bidding." His fingers graced her chin in an alarmingly familiar gesture, and his cunning blue eyes willed her to submit to his command.

"No…I mean…I have to get home! I can't stay here, it's too dangerous." She was getting frantic, and again he could see her expressive brown eyes search for possible escape routes. Her eyes, he thought, would be her downfall.

"Perhaps you should've thought of that before you so mindlessly decided to look through my belongings." He smiled cruelly and let go of her chin.

"Damn it all to hell."

* * *

She couldn't believe it. She couldn't believe that bastard, he was of another dimension altogether, or rather, a bastard of another time. Infuriatingly stupid man!

And she was so screwed.

This time she had utterly fucked up just about everything, and funny thing was, she had done it all on her own with absolutely no help from Harry and Ron. The world she had so valiantly fought to preserve during the war had disappeared because she couldn't contain her unbearable curiosity.

She had singlehandedly destroyed the future.

_How about adding that to your resume?_ Her mind sneered unpleasantly.

And now she was trapped in 1910_, for good_, with no way of ever going back to the time she knew and understood.

She held no silly illusions about her current situation. She knew how time worked. She knew all the rules and regulations, and she most definitely knew that going back to the past, like this, would indefinitely change everything. Her presence alone disturbed the unpredictable flow of time, and this little _mishap_ was not something anyone could mend once it had happened.

Time was such a fickle and irrational thing really. Just the tiniest ripple in the timeline could, and would, cause otherworldly effects – and she feared the aftermath. Gellert Grindelwald would use her, take advantage of her unprecedented knowledge, and he would certainly use it for his own gain. In short, she had doomed the world, and by default herself.

But that was not at all where her line of problems came to a stop. No, her problems far from ended at being a captive at Grindelwald Mansion in Germany.

If the Ministry, any Ministry of Magic in fact, got the wind of her unfortunate miscalculation and severe lack of judgement, then she risked getting chucked into Azkaban, or whichever magical prison available.

She did not fancy spending the rest of her life rotting up in Azkaban and playing house with Dementors, specifically equipped with a taste for sucking the life and happiness out of people – undeserving or not.

If she, on the other hand, contacted Albus Dumbledore, an otherwise sensible approach, he would likely think her barmy, and if he chose to believe her marvellous tale of curiosity, who knew what he would do to her?

Would he use her and her extensive knowledge as well, just like Grindelwald planned to do? And not to mention the fact that she still felt resentment for the wise old man after his clever manipulations in the war against Voldemort.

One did not go about manipulating with Hermione Granger, a simple fact and a simple rule most people knew by now. Luckily for the elder version of Albus Dumbledore, he had been dead and buried by the time she had time for revenge. Now though?

Her fingers itched to land a few curses on the man, old or young, it didn't matter, although, it could be said that time now posed a problem in regards to her trigger-happy wand hand.

The Albus Dumbledore of 1910 had never met a Hermione Granger before, nor had he manipulated her and her two best friends.

She could feel tears well up in her eyes, and feel herself being on the verge of a highly emotional and mental breakdown. She had no allies; she only had herself and her, now missing, wand to rely on.

She angrily kicked the beautiful antique dressing table, but realised all too soon what a bad move that turned out to be, as she hissed in pain.

She blamed him. Gellert bloody Grindelwald.

He might have placed her in a very nice and comfortable guestroom to placate her, but Hermione Granger was not a witch to use such petty tricks on. She didn't fail to notice the dangerous wards he had placed on the room either, and while she might have broken through them normally, she had no way of doing it while her wand was confiscated by the ginormous, egomaniacal arsehole.

She ate men like him for breakfast given the chance, figuratively speaking of course, and if he thought she was going to make it easy on him, well, then he had another thing coming.

_TBC…_

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AN: Greetings my lovelies. I'm a bit miffed to be honest; I find that I'm now in the middle of writing no less than three stories, even though I hardly have time for one as it is. But I suppose it will have to do… And I cannot express how sorry I am for the late update, but between work and writing Joie de Vivre (it's a monster I'm telling you! Crazy loooooong chapters, I swear, we are talking 8000-12000 words a chapter…) there's not much time for anything else (I do have a social life to tend to as well…).

Anyway, thank you SO MUCH for the lovely reviews, alerts and favs! Gosh, I think I might start to blush ;)

As for the next chapter: can't (or rather won't) promise when, but it will mainly be Grindelwald/Hermione interaction, as he has pissed her off.

I'm off to sleep now...got work in about six hours, sadly...

Love

Winnie


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